


that feel when people from your secret real life come to your sorta secret fake life

by impravidus



Series: Batman/White Collar Fics [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, White Collar (TV 2009)
Genre: Banter, Crack Treated Seriously, Gen, Humor, Misunderstandings, Neal Caffrey is Tim Drake, POV Outsider, Secret Identity, Tim Drake is Neal Caffrey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-15 19:26:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28818501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impravidus/pseuds/impravidus
Summary: Neal Caffrey is actually Tim Drake.Featuring spilled coffees, Peter thinking Tim is dating Jason's ex, and a rain-soaked Bruce Wayne.
Series: Batman/White Collar Fics [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2124333
Comments: 138
Kudos: 514





	1. Aadyasha

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to [CheetahLeopard2](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CheetahLeopard2/works) for all the help with this fic.

1

It’s been a long day. Actually? It’s been a long week. They’ve only got three days before nefarious bond forger, Tromperie, flees the country with bonds worth 2.8 million, and they’re working with next to nothing but one clipped corner, an apple juice bottle filled with ink, and seven trails that have come to dead ends.

Peter had to practically peel Neal out of bed this morning so they could meet yet another witness and Neal was a zombie the entire time. 

Peter had waited for Neal to finally get onto his A-Game of exuberant charisma and unfaltering energy, but he just swayed in his spot, humming when the witness said something noteworthy.

When Peter is done interviewing her, because he was the only one conducting the interview even though he  _ knows _ Neal could have extremely useful input, Peter huffs in frustration.

“What the hell was that?” Peter demands.

Neal blinks blearily. “Wh— huh?”

“I said, what the  _ hell _ was that? What is  _ wrong _ with you?”

Neal blinks again and yawns for a long five seconds. “You didn’t let me get my coffee.”

Peter stares at him incredulously. “I didn’t  _ let you _ get coffee?”

“We were in too much of a rush,” Neal says with a shrug. “And I was up late last night looking into leads.”

Peter scrubs a hand over his face, trying not to break his jaw from clenching it so hard. “Fine. You need coffee? Let’s go get some damn coffee.”

They go to a hole in the wall coffee shop that’s on their way back to the office with unfortunately unreasonably priced coffee. 

Peter is grateful when Neal pulls out his own wallet.

“Uh, hi,” Neal says, voice slightly slurred, “can I have a large drip brew with three extra shots of espresso?”

The barista raises his eyebrow.

“Yeah. I’m sure,” Neal replies.

The barista shakes his head, not going to question the customer.

Neal yawns again, stretching his arms high above his head, his suit stiff in protest. 

“Please wait by the counter for your order,” the barista says.

Neal’s lips form an ‘o’ and he stumbles to the counter, tapping his foot to the crappy elevator music playing over the tinny speaker. 

“Order for Addie?” the woman by the counter calls.

A woman in bright pink dress pants and a floral blouse scampers to the counter, grabbing the two coffee carriers and spins around, immediately running into Neal and spilling all of the coffee over his, what Peter would presume to be, very expensive suit.

Neal hisses in pain as the nearly boiling hot coffee soaks into the cloth.

“Oh my gosh. I am so, so sorry. Let me just…” She pulls a handful of napkins from the counter, dropping a few on the floor, and rapidly scrubbing at his chest. When she looks up and meets Neal’s eyes, she freezes. “Oh. Oh no. Oh no no no. Mr. Drake! I am so sorry.”

Peter’s eyebrows shoot up.

“I-I just started this job,” she continues to stammer. “Please, I don’t want to be fired.”

Neal smiles warmly, not the conning smile he uses to usually charm but one that is kind yet confident. He pulls his shirt away from his body to keep the hot coffee from burning his skin. “Don’t worry about it, Aadyasha. No harm done.”

Her eyes go wide. “You know my name?”

He chuckles in a way that Peter has never heard come from Neal. It’s a light, bubbly kind of chuckle. “Of course I do. I was very excited to see a woman of color so proficient in mechanical fission join the team.”

Okay. Now Peter is lost.

Neither of them notice his perplexed stares. The woman, Aadyasha, flushes at the praise. “Oh, well, thank you, sir.”

Neal frowns. “What are you doing making coffee runs? I would think with your skills, you'd be utilized in the labs.”

She shrugs. “U-uh, since I’m new, it’s sort of, uh, on me.”

“That’s… unacceptable.” She flinches at his tone. Peter is just gaping at Neal. “Your resume was outstanding.” He snaps his fingers as he looks to have remembered something. “Talk to Marianne. She’s got more authority than me.”

She laughs nervously. “I can’t imagine she does.”

“Really. Trust me.” He pulls out his phone and sends a quick text. “In fact, I just told her to expect you, so you better go see her. Don’t want to waste her energy and time.”

Her eyes go even wider. “O-of course.” She gulps. “Again, sir, I’m sorry about your suit.”

“Don’t even worry about it. I’ve got extras.” He pulls out two bills from his wallet. “This enough to replace your coffee?”

She gasps. “I-I… more than enough.”

“Use the rest for a good tip. Pay it forward,” Neal says.

“Yes sir,” she says, hands slightly trembling as she holds the bills.

“Order for Neal?” the barista calls.

“And that’s my cue,” Neal says, grabbing the cup. “Marianne will let me know if things don’t work out. Alright? But I doubt she won’t handle it.”

“Right?” she says.

“You have a good day.” He gives her a dazzling smile and begins to chug his coffee.

“Jesus, Neal,” Peter scolds, “you’re going to burn out your esophagus.”

Neal just waves Peter away and continues to chug the coffee.

TIM

It’s only after he has finished the last drop of coffee and he’s had a three minute buffer to realize what just happened. He tenses. Not enough for Peter to notice of course, he’s better than that, but enough that his step stutters.

“So,” Peter says slowly. “What was that all about?”

Tim’s brain takes a second to compute. “Right. That.”

“Is there something you need to tell me?” Peter asks, arms crossed over his chest.

_'Oh, yes, there_ is, _Peter. I'm actually undercover trying to weed out the corrupt FBI agents hidden in the white collar unit and I'm_ actually _Timothy Drake. You know, the famous one? The one that basically owns that giant skyscraper just down the street?'_

“You don’t wanna know what I get up to in my spare time,” Tim finally says.

Peter sighs and rubs his temple. “No. No, I don’t, do I?”

“Nope,” Tim replies. “Ugh, I should’ve gotten two. Five hundred milligrams is just not enough.”

“There was  _ five hundred _ milligrams of caffeine in that?!”

Tim pauses. “Uh… no?”

Peter groans. “Only you, Neal. Only you.”

He gets a text from Marianne later to let him know that everything has been handled. He grins. Maybe he’ll have to drop by the labs soon.


	2. Jason Todd

2

There is a random man in the office. There is a random man in the office and he is waiting at Neal’s desk and that can only mean trouble.

Peter watches from a distance, watching the man with scrutiny. 

He’s extremely muscular. Tall. Dark hair with a singular white stripe and bright blue eyes that could rival Neal’s. He holds himself like some sort of military, but he also holds himself a little too relaxed, like he’s got something to hide. Like he’s trying to look unremarkable. He plays with Neal’s rubber band ball, legs propped up on his desk, and sipping from a large fast food cup.

When Neal comes in, he tenses. His smile is complicated. Peter doesn’t know what to think of it.

“Hey Babybird,” the man greets. “Brought you lunch.” He shakes the fast food bag and tosses it to Neal.

He catches it without straying his gaze away from the man. “What are you doing here?” he asks, voice strained.

“Can’t I come see everyone’s favorite stalker?”

Peter tries to figure out what that means, but there’s no good answer. 

Neal glares at him. “Did you order with no pickles?”

“Do I look like a masochist?” the man questions.

“I think you mean sadist,” Neal corrects, opening the bag. “And to answer your question: yes, you do.”

The man clutches his heart with his hand. “That hurts, Pretender. It really does.”

Neal’s eyes narrow further. “Did you come here to be an ass or do you actually want to eat with me?”

“Can’t I do both?” 

Neal sighs. “I suppose you can.” Neal pushes the man’s feet off of his desk and takes a sit atop it. He whispers something that Peter can’t hear.

Peter can’t figure out their relationship. There’s some sort of tension, but they also seem to have a closeness. It’s a weird juxtaposition that he can only think to come from a past con gone wrong.

The man places a hand on Neal’s thigh and he goes still, slapping his hand away.

_ Oh. _ Maybe there’s another explanation.

Peter isn’t surprised that Neal swings the other way, at least a little. He’s an eccentric guy and flirts with basically anything that walks. He’s a good looking guy and that just means he can get with double the amount of people.

Yeah, that’s not that surprising.

And what’s even less surprising is that this is the kind of guy that Neal would get with.

They obviously met when Neal was still running cons. The man looks the type to. He’s just a little too put together. 

Not to mention the worn leather jacket that just screams “Hey! I do crimes!”

Okay. Maybe that’s jumping to conclusions. But still, he has to make these kinds of assumptions about Neal and his colleagues. They’ve gotten better with that, but there are times when he’s right.

“I grabbed brunch with B,” the man says.

Neal’s face morphs to shock. It’s guarded, with a little edge. “You did?” he asks. “Was it… good?”

“He just talked about you the whole time, since I guess nothing else interesting has happened.” 

“Really? Not even—” Neal makes a face that Peter can’t interpret.

“Nope. The demon’s been suspiciously unproblematic. Think the other shoe’s gonna drop soon. ‘Cause you know it always does.”

Peter isn’t sure if they’re still talking about the same person, but he stores the information away anyways.

“Yeah. Of course it does.” Neal shakes his head with a fond smile. “So, B say anything interesting?”

“Like he ever does.” He flicks Neal’s forehead. “And don’t let it get to your head, Replacement.”

_ ‘Replacement?’  _ Peter questions in his head.

The realization dawns on him.

_ They _ aren’t exes. The man is the ex of Neal’s… something. 

Now, Peter didn’t even realize that Neal was seeing someone. Especially after everything with Kate. But, people are bound to find rebounds after a rough breakup.

And maybe that’s what they both are together. Neal and this “B.” B is rebounding from the man talking to Neal, Neal who is the  _ Replacement, _ while B is Neal’s rebound from Kate.

It makes sense. 

The man goes to ruffle Neal’s hand but he grabs his wrist. “Don’t you dare touch my hair.”

He holds his hands up in surrender. “Ooo. Touchy touchy.”

“Quite the opposite actually.”

The man snorts. “You’re not funny.”

“I’m hilarious,” Neal says dryly. 

“Keep telling yourself that.” He takes another sip from his drink. “You know, it’s kinda funny that I’m in here. You think I’m still on the FBI’s Most Wanted List?”

Peter splutters.

“Maybe?” Neal replies, not even slightly concerned with the statement. “Who knows, though. It’s your fault for not being subtle.”

“I wasn’t really in the  _ headspace _ to be  _ subtle.”  _ He scoffs. “You send  _ one _ duffel bag—”

Peter decides he can’t listen to this conversation anymore, less he finds out that Neal is involved in something incriminating. He doesn’t think he is, but at least Peter will have plausible deniability.

TIM

Jason pokes at his thigh again and Tim squirms away.

“Stop fucking touching my bruise,” he hisses quietly.

“Oh, so you _ did  _ end up getting that hit. Wasn’t sure when I saw.”

Tim closes his eyes and groans. “Of course you’ve been keeping an eye on me.”

“How could I not? Gotta make sure you’re not getting up to trouble when you’re,” he leans in, “undercover.”

“Well you’re really blowing that by coming to see me,” Tim mutters.

“It’s fine. No one recognizes me. Since you know. Dead.” Jason waves his hand dismissively. “Besides, I’m just having a little fun.”

Tim raises an eyebrow. “And what exactly does that fun entail?”

“Making rumors about you.” He finishes his last bite and sucks the crumbs off of his fingers. He tosses the wrapper perfectly into the trashcan and grabs his drink. “Have fun with that!” he says cheerily before heading to the elevator.

Later, when Peter asks not-so-subtly about the man from lunch and him moving on from Kate, Tim swears that the next time he sees Jason, he  _ will _ strangle him.


	3. Lex Luthor

3

The office is jittering with anxiety.

Word has spread around that Lex Luthor himself is coming in to discuss cyberattacks in his servers.

Lex Luthor is not the kind of man that anyone wants to face. He is a terrifying, powerful man that can stomp your career into the dirt. So, they all are waiting and preparing for what they really hope is not a disaster that leads to some sort of lawsuit.

Neal especially has been very on edge.  _ That _ was concerning.

The man has been stealing glances at the elevator every five minutes and Peter knows he’s not going to like whatever Neal has to explain himself.

Peter makes his way to Neal’s desk and the man jolts when he meets his eyes. He gives him his smile that means he’s definitely not in the smiling mood.

“Hey, Peter. How can I help you?”

“What did you do?”

He pouts. “Now, why would you think I’ve done something?”

“Because you’re jumpy. And you’re twitchy. And you  _ weren’t _ jumpy and twitchy before the word about Luthor started spreading. So,” he places his hands on his desk,  _ “what _ did you  _ do?” _

“The guy’s like Wayne,” Neal says slowly. “You don’t mess with the big guns.  _ I _ haven’t done anything, but men like Luthor see through men like me.”

Peter, not satisfied with the answer, narrows his eyes at Neal. “I swear, Neal, if you stole anything from him, or God forbid somehow embezzled money from  _ Lex Luthor—” _

“I didn’t!” Neal says, voice high. “Really, Peter. I swear. I stole  _ nothing _ from Luthor. Everything surrounding that man is practically an impenetrable fortress anyways. There’s no way I  _ could _ have stolen it.”

Peter takes a long pause. “Fine. I believe you.”

Neal sighs in relief. “Thank you, Peter.”

The elevator dings and the office falls silent.

Lex Luthor, in a suit that probably costs more than his mortgage, strides into the office and Neal goes to hide behind his computer.

“He’s just over here,” Diana says as she leads the man to Peter. “Mr. Luthor, this is Agent Peter Burke.”

The man holds out his hand and Peter shakes it firmly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Luthor.”

“While I wish it could have been under better circumstances, unfortunately,” he waves his hand. “Do you have an office we may consult in?”

“Yes. Follow me.” Peter glances to Neal who still hides behind his computer.

Luthor’s gaze follows. His eyebrows raise in surprise. “Timothy. I didn’t expect to see you here. Have the cyberattacks been aimed at the New York branch as well?”

Peter looks between the two of them, perplexed.

Neal smiles tightly. “You must be mistaken, Mr. Luthor.” He holds his hand out to shake. “Neal Caffrey at your service.”

Luthor eyes him suspiciously. “Ah.” He pauses, still inspecting Neal. “I see.” He shakes his hand and his brows furrow even tighter. “Good grip.”

Neal pulls his hand away, shoving it into his pocket.

Peter gulps, unsure of what to do.

Luthor leans in and whispers something to Neal that makes the usually unperturbed man go still. Neal nods.

“Well,” Luthor motions at Peter, “lead the way. I don’t have all day.”

“Right. Follow me.”

TIM

Tim can’t focus on his work while Luthor is just a few meters away. He taps his fingers on his desk and rereads the same file of a mortgage fraud case seven times in a row, not comprehending it each time.

After a fifteen minutes that passes far too slow, Luthor stands over his desk, smiling that menacing, shark grin. “Agent Burke, you wouldn’t mind if I talk to Mister,” his grin grows wider, “Caffrey was it? For a moment?”

Peter shoots Tim a look. Tim nods.

“I don’t mind at all,” Tim says.

“Wonderful.” Luthor holds his hand. “Do show me to a conference room.”

“Conference room four is open,” Peter says.

“Conference room four it is,” Luthor says.

When they make it in the room, the door clicking shut, Luthor rakes his eyes over Tim, trying to piece the situation together.

“Now, imagine my surprise when I found out that the head of the New York branch of Wayne Enterprises, major shareholder of Drake Industries,  _ son  _ of billionaire Bruce Wayne himself is holed up in a little FBI office instead of, hm, I don’t know, at the company that he is in charge of?”

Tim doesn’t respond. He knows his monologue isn’t over.

“I was wondering why you would start working remotely. I figured you were just following in daddy’s footsteps, which, who knows why you would do that. You were phenomenal at what you did and your employees spoke highly of you. So why would you go remote?

“And I find you here. Playing detective?” He leans over the table. “Tell me, Timothy. What are you playing at?”

“Gotta get rid of the weeds to make the machine run smoothly, as I'd expect you to understand, Mr Luthor." His face is a careful blank. “I suspect there has been foul play in Drake Industries and I need the power to find them from the inside.

Luthor takes his time taking in the information. “I see.” He looks at his nails, a mask of boredom on his face. “And what would happen if there was word of this long con you have been putting on?”

“Well, I suspect there will be none of that,” Tim smirks, “because I’m sure you’d like someone who can track those cyberattacks.”

Luthor stills.

“You know I’m the best of the best.”  _ Well, except for Barbara.  _ “I didn’t get where I am today without being the best of the best. While my colleagues here scramble to find the source, I can nip it in the bud for you.”

Luthor ponders the offer. “Well, I’m sure that word of your positions don’t need to be circulated.”

“Expect that cyberattack to be taken care of by the weekend.”

“Two days,” Luthor says.

“Three.”

They both engage in an intense staring contest.

Luthor huffs. “Three days. I will hold you to that.”

“I always keep my word, Mr. Luthor. You know that.”

Luthor glares at him. “If you do not—”

“I will.”

_ “If you do not,” _ he repeats, “then expect some little birdies spreading the news about the breach in Drake Industries and what the face of the company is doing about it.”

Tim’s jaw clicks as it tightens. He stands and holds his hand out.

Luthor shakes it, gripping it a little too tight. “Always a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Drake.”

“As always.”

They exit the conference room and the floor goes silent again.

“Mr. Caffrey,” Luthor says, nodding his head.

“Mr. Luthor,” Tim replies.

And with that, Luthor heads to the elevator and the tension in the office snaps.

“What did he say?” Peter questions quickly. “You said you—”

“I didn’t do  _ anything,”  _ Neal says. “He wanted my input on the cyberattacks.”

Peter snorts. “You know nothing about cyberattacks.”

_ Oh, you have no idea.  _ “But I know about the kinds of people who do them,” Tim says instead. “He wanted a profile.”

Peter considers his words. “Right.”

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a lovely pile of mortgage fraud I have to tend to.”

“I will find out what you actually talked about,” Peter says.

“I’m sure you will!” 


	4. Dick Grayson

4

Officer Richard Grayson from the Bludhaven Police Department is coming in for a “Incognito, Infiltration, and Interrogation” presentation. Basically, the mandatory refresher on protocol for undercover work, warrants and clearing, and questioning.

Everyone dreads this presentation because it is a grueling hour of boring content they already know.

Peter goes to Neal’s desk and snaps in front of his face. “Neal.”

“What?” Neal grumbles, still reading his computer.

“We have to get to the presentation.”

“Do I have to go? I’m not technically an agent.”

“But you do  _ technically _ work here and every person who works here is required to go.”

“Even the janitors?” Neal questions.

“Presentation. Now.”

Neal holds his hands up. “Alright. I’m coming.”

Peter plops Neal in the seat next to him so he can keep an eye on him and ignores Neal’s chatter that he keeps whispering into Peter’s ear.

The lights flicker to indicate the presentation is starting and they all go silent.

At the front of the room enters Officer Richard Grayson and Neal’s breath hitches.

Officer Grayson looks at their direction and winks at Neal.

“Neal,” Peter whispers threateningly.

“I didn’t do anything,” Neal hisses back.

The presentation, as always, is very boring, though a little more tolerable with Grayson’s added humor. However, what Peter doesn’t expect is Neal’s running commentary.

When Grayson goes over undercover work, Neal snorts. It’s an unattractive kind of snort accompanied by a “tell that to the disco suit.”

At the mention of stakeouts, when Grayson mentions — a little passive aggressively — to never fall asleep when you are at a stakeout, because you never know “when you’re going to sleepwalk into the middle of a warehouse on a stakeout,” Neal rolls his eyes. “One time. You sleepwalk  _ one _ time.”

During discussion of warrants and proper clearing technique, Neal just has a look of pure disbelief on his face.

Finally, during the questioning portion, he just looks amused, especially when Grayson mentions being patient and gentle with the one you’re interrogating. 

When the presentation finally finishes, everyone is quick to go back to their work.

“I’m gonna stay back for a bit,” Neal says.

“Oh, no you’re not,” Peter says. “You have the Mahoney case.”

“Really. I won’t be long. Head out without me.”

Peter does not head out without him. He stays back and watches whatever Neal is up to.

What he isn’t expecting at all is Neal approaching Officer Grayson and slugging him in the arm. And what he  _ really _ isn’t expecting is Officer Grayson laughing and pulling him in to give him a noogie.

In the blink of an eye, Neal has pulled out a pen and is pointing it at the man’s throat. “Touch my hair and you’ll have a scar to match mine.”

Officer Grayson laughs. “You’re almost as bad as Little D.”

“You shut your face, Dickface.”

Peter gaped at the man, afraid that Neal was going to get arrested right there.

But he doesn’t. Officer Grayson just laughs again. He places a hand on Neal’s arm and frowns.

"You haven't been eating."

Neal crosses his arms. “Yes I have!”

Officer Grayson raises an eyebrow. "And how much of that was coffee?”

Neal pauses. “I… had a donut?”

“You cannot live off of donuts and coffee. I’m supposed to be the stereotypical cop here.”

Neal chuckles. “Yeah, that terrible mustache was really saying… something.”

“The mustache looked great!” Officer Grayson says, hands flying up, offended.

“No, Dick, it did not.”

“Do I have to drag you to lunch myself to see that you’re actually consuming nutritional food? Do I need to sic Alfred on you?”

Neal buries his face in his hand. “Oh,  _ please _ do not tell Alfred. You know he’ll put me on a meal plan of lemon pepper cod and asparagus or something equally as dreadful just to spite me.”

“Maybe you need to be on a ‘dreadful’ diet.”

Neal glares. “No. I am perfectly fine with my current diet.”

Officer Grayson smirks playfully. “You’re never gonna grow if you don’t eat.”

Neal shoves Grayson’s shoulder with a laugh. “Fuck off.”

Peter’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. 

“My flight’s tomorrow morning if you want to grab something to eat after you get off?” Officer Grayson suggests.

“Well, you know I’ve only got my two mile radius, but there’s a  _ killer _ Thai place just barely in my range. I have to eat on the right side of the restaurant but it’s _ so _ worth it.”

Office Grayson swings his arm around Neal’s shoulder and squeezes. “I would _ love _ that.”

That night, Peter passes by that Thai restaurant when he’s picking up his dry cleaning and has to double take when he sees Neal in a loose sweater and jeans, his hair in a droopy mess rather than his usual perfect quiff.

Neal is laughing in a way he’s never seen him laugh before, throwing a balled up napkin at Officer Grayson.

Peter smiles. It’s a good look on him.

TIM

“Nice presentation today by the way,” Tim says as they sit at the table, far right of the restaurant.

“I try,” Dick says. “But the material’s a little dry.”

“A little? That shit was as dry as Damian’s humor.” Tim pauses. “Actually, no, his humor isn’t dry. He just doesn’t have a sense of humor.”

“Be nice,” Dick chides.

“Sorry! Sorry. I know. Gotta be nice to the little monster.”

_ “Tim.” _

“Sorry! Fine. I’ll stop.” Tim stirs at his Pad Thai with a soft smile. “It’s really great to see you. I’ve missed you.”

Dick smiles. “I’ve missed you too. When this is all over, you better come visit me so I can finally show you that pizzeria I’ve been telling you about.”

“Can I get my artichoke hearts on them?”

Dick rolls his eyes. “Yes, you can get your abomination topping.”

“Hey! Artichoke hearts, they’ve got umami and shit!”

“Oh? You know so much about umami? You finally learn how to cook without setting the kitchen on fire?”

“You put dry ramen into the microwave and start a fire  _ three times _ and suddenly you’re banned from the kitchen!” Tim glares a little longer before breaking into a fit of giggles. “Okay, fine, I get it.”

The two laugh, Dick threatening to bring up The Boiled Pineapple Juice Incident, which makes Tim laugh harder, throwing a napkin at him in response.

Dick freezes, eyes catching a man in the window. “That guy who was sitting next to you at the presentation, the one that was shadowing you when you were talking to me,” Dick glances out the window again, “he’s outside right now watching us.”

Tim shrugs. “That’s Peter.”

_ “That’s _ Peter?” Dick questions. 

“He’s been up my ass since we’ve met. Don’t mind him.” 

“He a good guy?” Dick asks.

“Yeah. He’s great,” Tim says. “You don’t have to worry about him. He may be a bit of a stick in the mud, especially towards Neal, but he means well. He believes in me.”

“You like it here.” It’s not a question, Tim notes.

“I do. But I can’t stay.” He smiles sadly, tracing the rim of his glace with his finger. “When I finish, I’ll go back to my life, and Neal Caffrey will cease to exist. And I… I’ll steer clear from anything from his life. I can’t like it here because everything ends, and I’ll have to let it go.”

And Tim really hates how much that sounds like foreshadowing.


	5. Damian Wayne

5

Peter and Neal are heading to Ellen’s Stardust Diner. No, they are not getting a nice supper and a show. They have a warrant to talk to a suspect.

Rosanna Gilfred, theatre teacher from Gotham city, has been suspected to have overcharged her students for their annual New York trip. 

“So, how the hell does a teacher overcharge five hundred dollars without anyone noticing?” Neal asks.

“The trip includes three broadway shows, two restaurants, two nights at a hotel, and a masterclass with Broadway actors. With that much going on, you’d expect it to be expensive.”

“How expensive  _ is _ this trip?” 

“Six hundred dollars for a four person room and up to a thousand for a single.”

Neal whistles. “That is… a lot.”

“Yeah. Tell me about it.” Peter pulls out the file. “The kids are splitting the room, four to a room. Two nights at this hotel for one room with that split for one person should be fifty bucks.” He points at the numbers. “But she was charging them at full for both nights.” He runs his finger down the page. “She also doesn’t mention the entire school discount for the shows, charges the chaperones for masterclasses they don’t attend, and includes a talkback they don’t actually go to.”

“Wow,” Neal says, speechless. “That’s…”

“Yeah. I know.”

“So, the question is, where’s the money going?”

Peter sighs. “Let’s go find out.”

The two are keeping a healthy distance from the teacher and her class, observing them and working through their plan, when suddenly Neal is being pressed against a wall by a teenager with an arm pressed against his throat.

“Why did he send you?” the teen demands. “I have done nothing wrong.”

“He didn’t send me!” Neal insists, voice slightly choked.

“I will not allow you to sabotage my only time as a civilian, you insolent—”

“I’m sorry, who are you?” Peter asks, ready to step in and intervene.  _ “You _ are currently assaulting a federal agent.”

The teen rolls his eyes, not nearly bothered about that enough. “-tt- I’d hardly consider this to be assault.” He does pull his arm away. “So, you are not here because—”

“No,” Neal says, rubbing his neck. “I swear.”

“Oh,” the teen says. His eyes narrow. “I will give you the benefit of the doubt, despite you being a bumbling, incompetent fool.”

“Thanks, Damian,” Neal says with an eye roll.

“You know him?” Peter asks incredulously.

“I’m an associate of his father,” Neal replies.

“Hardly even an associate,” Damian murmurs.

“You wouldn’t happen to go to Gotham Prep, would you?” Peter asks.

The teen, Damian, stands straighter. “I do. And that is of interest to you, why?”

“You are attending the theatre trip, right?” Peter asks.

“Aw, Dami, you do theatre?” Neal coos.

“I will carve out your intestines with a dull spoon and I  _ will _ enjoy it,” the teen spits at Neal. He turns to Peter and plasters on a smile suited for the big screen. “I  _ am _ attending the theatre trip. Is that fact of the import to your… investigation?”

“How much did you pay for this trip?”

“One thousand twenty six dollars,” Damian replies. 

“And you were fine with that? You didn’t think that was… extortionate?”

He scoffs. “Hardly. Father has ample funds to afford this trip.”

Peter tries to hide his shock. “I… see. Do your peers have the same sentiment?”

“Of course not,” Damian replies. “If anything, they have been incorrigible, whiny babies.”

“Dami, manners,” Neal says sternly. His eyes go wide as he cuts himself off.

Peter glances at him in surprise. He clears his throat. “Could you point us to your teacher? Mrs. Gilfred?”

Damian points at the corner in the room. “She is the woman with the poorly matched outfit. Dry bleach blonde hair, an ill-fitting purple top, and checkered dress pants that are unevenly hemmed.”

“...Right,” Peter says, nodding slowly. “Thanks for your help.”

“Can you handle your interrogation alone, feeb? I would like to converse with your little assistant.”

“I’m not an assistant—” 

“Silence, you dullard!” Damian says to Neal.

Neal takes a deep breath, eyes shut in frustration and annoyance.

“Neal?” Peter asks Neal.

“Go ahead without me. I’m sure the two of us might scare her off,” Neal says. “Besides, someone should be at the door in case she tries to run.”

Peter hesitantly agrees and goes up to talk to the teacher.

Neal was right. She did try to run. And surprisingly, the teen he was talking to is the one who catches the teacher.

TIM

“What are you really here for?” Damian demands.

“Seriously. We’re here for your teacher,” Tim says.

“Mrs. Gilfred? She is entirely unremarkable.”

“She’s been overcharging for the trip. She overcharged you five hundred dollars.”

Damian tenses. “And where is this money going?”

“We’re trying to figure that out,” Tim says.

Damian lifts his chin. “I shall assist you on your mission.”

Tim’s eyes go wide. “No. No no no, this isn’t something you can assist.”

“Surely I can. I am a meritorious interrogator.”

“First of all, no you’re not. Second of all, this is  _ not _ that kind of interrogation.”

Damian squints his eyes, unsatisfied. “Fine. But, though I would love to bask in your humiliation as I overshadow you in your place of work, I know your cover is important.”

“It is,” Tim says. “It is very important.”

“Very well.” He pauses. “However, for my generosity, you owe me.”

“What? No I don’t.”

“Yes,” Damian says. “You do.” He taps his chin as he thinks. “The next time you return home, you will allow me to paint a portrait of you.”

Tim’s brows furrow. “Is that what you really want?”

“You are an insufferable subject, so  _ when _ I paint your portrait, you  _ will _ sit still and you  _ will  _ pose how I position you.”

Tim takes a moment to consider his proposition. “Fine. Okay. I’ll pose for a portrait.”

Damian grins. “Perfect. Then I shall—”

Suddenly there is a commotion. Plates crash as Rosanna Gilfred jumps down from the top level onto someone’s table and begins to run towards the door.

“Aha!” Damian exclaims. He grabs the woman before she can run out and restrains her, holding her hands behind her back as he presses her to the floor.

Tim sighs. _ ‘Great. The press is going to have a field day about this.’ _ Quickly and quietly, he sneaks away before Damian Wayne and Tim Drake can be plastered on every New York newspaper together.


	6. Bruce Wayne

6

Peter arrives at June’s house to check up on Neal as soon as he gets off from work.

A suspect had pushed Neal down a flight of stairs and he is now on bedrest for two weeks with a thick cast around his (non-tracker) ankle. Peter is still beating himself up about it, letting Neal get hurt like that. Sometimes he forgets that Neal wasn’t trained like him and is therefore more vulnerable.

Peter knocks on Neal’s door lightly.

“Come in!” he hears Neal say.

Peter pushes the door open.

“Peter! What are you doing here?” Neal asks with a smile, shutting his laptop.

Peter tries not to gape at Neal in very worn sweatpants and oversized sweatshirt.

“I was picking up some Boston creme pie for El and thought I’d grab you some of those maple bacon donuts you are always raving about.”

Neal gasps. “Peter, you are Heaven sent. You are a _ saint. _ How will I ever repay you?”

“By staying in bed and getting healed up so you can come back to work.”

Neal chuckles. “I think I can do that.”

“So, what have you been doing?” Peter asks.

“Just getting some work done,” Neal says.

“Work?”

He waves his hand. “You know how it is. Can’t always leave it at the office.”

Peter nods. “Right.” He places the box on the bed next to him. “Well. I gotta head out, but I just came here to say—”

There’s suddenly an aggressive knocking coming from the balcony door. 

“Let me in!!! Let me  _ iiiiin!!! _ C’mon.  _ C’moooon. _ Let me—”

Neal is pulling himself from his bed and hobbling out to the door before Peter can stop him.

He pulls the door open and a man soaked in rain stumbles up to Neal and wraps him into a bone-crushing hug. 

“What are you doing here?” Neal asks warily.

“Well, I had to come see you!” the man slurs. And oh dear God, that’s Bruce Wayne. What the  _ hell _ is  _ Bruce Wayne _ doing here, soaked in rain on Neal’s  _ balcony? _

“I had to see you. It’s been too long. I’ve missed you sooo much. I took a Zeta-Tube just to see you.”

Neal pulls away and holds the man up by his shoulders. “Did you sneak out of medical?”

“Psh.” Bruce shakes his head. “Of course I did.”

“How did you manage to do that?” Neal asks.

Bruce snorts. “Like it’s hard?”

Neal sighs. “C’mon. Sit down.” He pulls a towel from the closet and sets it on the bench before leading Bruce to sit on it. The man plops onto the seat, swaying in his spot.

Neal heads to the minifridge in the corner of his room. “So, did you just get off anesthesia?”

“Mhm,” Bruce says. “Lost a liter of blood too.”

Peter’s jaw drops.

“That explains all of this,” Neal mutters. “You’re going to be very mad at yourself when you’re lucid again.” He hands the man a bottle of electrolyte water and a banana. “Eat up. You know you need it.”

“You’re so good. You’re so so so good. You’re the most good there ever was.” He tries to grab Neal’s arm. “C’mon. C’mon. Sit with me.”

Neal takes a seat next to him on the bench.

Bruce grips Neal’s shoulders. “I haven’t told you I’m proud of you enough. But I am. I  _ am. _ I’m so proud of you and I’m proud to be your—”

“Thanks, Bruce,” Neal cuts him off.

Bruce twists around and begins to munch on his banana.

Peter’s eyes widen as he sees his rain soaked shirt suddenly stain red. “Uh, Mr. Wayne?”

Neal sighs. “You pulled your stitches?” he asked with b lasé. He huffs as he turns to rummage under his bed.

Peter is still watching with absolute shock.

Neal returns to his side with scissors, a thread and needle. “You’re such a hypocrite, Mr. ‘Take Better Care of Your Wounds.’”

"Son," Bruce cups Neal’s face and leans in close. “You don’t have a spleen.”

Peter chokes on air. “I think I’m gonna go.”

Neal nods. “That would be best.”

As Peter closes the door, he swears he hears Superman on the other side.

TIM

Clark appears out on the balcony and rushes in.

“I’m so sorry, Tim. I don’t know how he got away,” Clark says apologetically.

“Don’t worry about it, Clark. I’m just glad he came to me instead of… anywhere else.”

Clark sighs. “Right.”

“Tim. Tim.  _ Timmy.” _

“Yes, Bruce?”

Bruce holds his arms out.

“I am not hugging you when you are bleeding, Bruce. You need to go back to medical.”

“Come back with me!” Bruce says.

“I can’t.” Tim motions to his tracker. “Remember?”

Bruce pouts. “But, but, but I don’t get to see you.”

“Then you should come visit me sometime,” Tim suggests.

“But I’m so  _ busy. _ Bruce Wayne is  _ exhausting  _ and  _ busy _ and Batman is even _ more _ exhausting and even  _ more _ busy.”

Tim chuckles. “I have a feeling like I’m gonna be able to come back to Gotham soon.”

“You promise?” Bruce asks.

“I’ll try my best,” Tim says.

Bruce slumps. “Okay.” He makes grabby fingers at Clark. “Take me back, Clarky.”

“Bye Bruce.”

Bruce staggers to Tim and presses a sloppy kiss to his forehead.

As the two disappear in the Zeta-Tube, Tim falls onto the bench.

“Ugh. And I  _ just _ took a shower.”


	7. Tim Drake

+1

It was a normal day when Neal Caffrey disappeared.

Peter had come into work that Tuesday, ready to talk to Neal about the breakthrough in the case they were working on, when he was met with solemn shakes of the head.

Somehow, Neal had gotten out of the anklet. Somehow, every single piece of evidence that pointed to Neal even  _ existing _ disappeared. Somehow, Neal was gone and he didn’t even say goodbye.

Peter moved on. He had to. And even though he’d see something and have the instinct to turn to Neal and ask him what he thinks or keep an eye out for the man in the nice suits and distinctive fedora, slowly, Neal Caffrey just became a part of the past. A part of his past.

It’s been a year and Peter is on a case.

There have been forged signatures of the New York head of Wayne Enterprises that have been signing off on some very illegal things.

So, Peter has been sent to talk to him.

Peter fiddles with his tie as he stands in the extremely pristine mirrored elevator. When it dings, a woman in a dark pencil skirt leads him to the man’s office.

Peter’s whole body goes rigid when he hears the voice on the other side of the door.

“Yes, Lucius, everything is under control. I have a meeting about it,” he pauses, “right now. So if you’ll please excuse me, I need to go. Yes. Yes, I understand. Yes, I will handle it. When do I not? Alright. Goodbye.” Timothy Drake —  _ Neal, that’s Neal, oh my good God that’s actually Neal Caffrey, he’s alive, he’s here  _ — turns around with a sheepish smile. “Sorry about that I…” His words fade.

“Neal?” Peter whispers, completely aghast. “What, how, where have you been? How are you—”

Neal holds out his hand. “Tim Drake.”

Peter stares at his hand. “What?”

“It’s the name on my birth certificate.” He holds his hands out with a slight shrug. “Really, check. I swear it’s not forged, though I’m sure you won’t believe that.”

“I don’t… I don’t understand,” Peter says.

“And I can’t explain,” Neal admits. “I’m sorry, Peter. I wish I could but I… it’s complicated. It’s top secret. I can’t… I’m sorry.”

“You’re alive,” Peter finally manages to say. “I… I’ve always wondered if you were…” His words trail off. “And you are.”

The two of them stare at each other for a little longer before Neal pulls Peter into a hug.

“It’s so good to see you,” Neal murmurs.

Peter hugs him tighter. “It’s good to see you too, kid.”

They pull away before it can get too weird.

“So,” Neal finally says. “signatures.”

“So that’s it,” Peter says flatly, voice tinged with disbelief. “We’re just going to pretend like— like you’re not—”

“Yes. We are. Because that’s how it has to be.” 

Peter watches him incredulously. Neal is… different. And yet he’s exactly how he remembered him. He’s confident, not in a self-assured way but the way of a leader, a man in charge. Peter starts to wonder if it was always that way and he just never saw it.

“Okay,” Peter says, “Mr. Drake—”

“Tim. Please.”

“Tim,” Peter corrects. “Let’s take a look at those signatures.”

And Neal and Peter got to have one last case together. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that's the end! thank you everyone who has come along on this journey. your enthusiasm and kind words have meant the world to me, so thank you.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to chat, my Tumblr is [official-impravidus](https://official-impravidus.tumblr.com/)
> 
> If you want to join a White Collar/Batman Discord, click [here!](https://discord.gg/SnjTSuvtds)


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